


Love the sunshine (and the rain)

by sunshine_kitcat (moonkevin)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, honestly just magical xiaoyang fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkevin/pseuds/sunshine_kitcat
Summary: Dejun’s always been fond of the sunlight.And Yangyang? Yangyang's the brightest sunshine there is.
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Love the sunshine (and the rain)

**Author's Note:**

> NCT U - My Everything

Dejun’s always been fond of the sunlight.

Sure, he may be a tropical rain spirit who only brings with him thundering storms or heavy downpours, but there’s the odd chance he’ll find himself casting a sun shower instead. His best friend, a sun spirit named Kunhang, tells him he’s just yearning for something he doesn’t have. Dejun can’t deny it. He wonders what warmth feels like. Wonders what it’s like to be looked forward to, instead of having the humans scramble away from him the moment Dejun comes. It might’ve been nice for the first few centuries, but Dejun’s grown bored of so much silence.

Lately, however, humans have managed to invent this wonderful thing that lets more of them wander the streets of their cities and towns under the pelting rain. ‘Umbrellas’, as Dejun’s learnt, come in a variety of colours, dotting his once barren landscapes with vibrant life. Some humans even begin to look forward to the rain, running onto the streets as they jump around in the tiny pools of water left in their hardened roads.

Dejun finds himself drawn to these scenes, staring at the humans as they seem… joyous for his blessing. How odd, these humans are. To enjoy the feeling of feeling wet and soaked to the bones. Dejun won’t ever understand the children running around, jumping into the puddles as their mortal forebearers chase after them. Dejun’s always been taught by the other weather spirits to respect those older than him, but humans seem to spend their lives slaving away for the younger generations.

Quite an odd bunch, these two-legged mortals are.

But just as Dejun grew used to the silence all those centuries past, he slowly grows used to the humans and their new excitement over the rain. He’ll never understand it, of course, because why would people  _ like _ the sadness that comes with every downpour?

“You look sad,” someone says, pulling Dejun out of his haze. He finds a boy about his physical age staring at him, a bright red plastic umbrella held over his head. The thing is riddled with holes, doing nothing to stop the rain. Strangely enough, the boy isn’t wet.

Out of reflex, Dejun checks behind him. He’s not visible to the humans, being a weather spirit and all, and yet there’s no one else the boy could be referring to. Dejun frowns, turning back to the boy.

“What are you?” Dejun questions, not even bothering to hide the directness of the question. The boy doesn’t seem to mind, shrugging lightly as he adjusts the bright red rain jacket on his shoulders that match his useless umbrella.

“A ghost, I think,” the boy responds. Dejun frowns.

“And you’re telling  _ me _ that I look sad,” Dejun deadpans. “Don’t ghosts only stick around because of some terribly depressing attachment to the human world?”

The boy shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t met another one. I only died yesterday.”

Dejun’s face morphs into sympathy, suddenly feeling bad for the boy. “What happened?” he asks, trying to be a little more sincere. The boy shrugs again.

“I don’t know either,” the boy replies flatly. “I don’t know much. Only that I woke up in the rain and found my, uh, body kind of, uh, washed away by the river. I think I might’ve drowned?”

Dejun suddenly feels an odd emotion in his chest telling him to reach out and hug the boy. One of his geges, a wind spirit named Sicheng, tells him that as he spends more time around humans, he’ll slowly adapt to these things humans call ‘attachment’. Supposedly, they make life all worth it and things. Then again, spending time away from contact has only taught Dejun how to feel lonely and sad.

“Do you even remember your name?” Dejun asks. The boy pauses for a moment, biting his bottom lip.

“Not really,” he shrugs. “The Death guy… uh, Kun, was it? He told me I should first try to remember who I am before I pass into the Underworld.”

The boy suddenly pauses, looking at Dejun hesitantly. Dejun doesn’t prod, letting him gather his thoughts. He’s seen the humans do it a lot, although some just barrel forwards.

“Could you… give me one?” the boy asks. Dejun frowns, knitting his eyebrows together.

“We met, like, two minutes ago,” Dejun points out. The boy shrugs.

“That’s the longest I’ve talked to someone yet,” the boy points out, and Dejun feels that weird hug-feeling again. Dejun sighs, looking around. He’s not sure what counts as a human name though, but it doesn’t sound like the boy cares.

His eyes catch a random food stall out of the corner of his eyes, closed up and draped in a giant piece of plastic. Inspiration strikes as he sees the illustrations on the side of the stall.

“Yangyang,” Dejun decides, turning to the boy again. The boy scrunches up his nose in thought, and Dejun can’t help but think he looks… more huggable like this. What did the humans call this? Cute?

“Sheep sheep,” Yangyang deadpans. “You want to name me after a sheep.”

Dejun scowls, growing defensive. “You said I could name you!” he grumbles. He half expects Yangyang to wave him off, maybe find a different, nicer weather spirit to hang out with. Dejun’s been prone to being a tad bit icy anyway.

Strangely enough, Yangyang laughs.

“No, I love it! It’s just funny,” Yangyang smiles. “Plus, you look cute, getting all defensive like that.”

For the first time in millennia, a strange prick of warmth comes from Dejun’s body. That doesn’t happen. He’s always cold. It’s just what rain spirits are like. This warmth? Weird. Shouldn’t be happening. He’s met Yangyang for a total of three minutes and he’s already feeling out of it. Maybe Dejun wasn’t made out for attachment to the human race.

“I like you,” Yangyang decides suddenly. “You sound like a neat guy. Maybe you can help me with this thing, uh, Death? Kun?”

“Just get to the point,” Dejun sighs, starting to get impatient. Yangyang giggles at him, oddly enough. Humans are so weird. Get angry and depressing and they call you cute and smile.

“I, um, only have one thing. From my passing. Kun saved it from my body, apparently,” Yangyang says shyly, handing Dejun his umbrella. Dejun frowns, not quite understanding what he means. At Yangyang’s encouragement, Dejun looks at the inside of the umbrella. He finds a photo dangling from the inner cane, a black background painted with neon lines. Dejun recognizes it, having heard tales of the North from Sicheng. Winds travel everywhere, unlike the rain.

“I think the human me wanted to see that,” Yangyang explains. “But… I don’t even know where that is.”

Dejun’s heart melts as he looks back up to Yangyang. For the first time in his eons of life, Dejun finds himself with a purpose. A mission, instead of just floating around aimlessly and bringing rain with him.

“I’ll take you there,” Dejun offers. Yangyang freezes, surprised. Dejun frowns. Was that not what he wanted? Humans are so complicated.

“Oh, I… didn’t expect you to say yes so easily,” Yangyang says sheepishly. Cute. His name suits him.

Dejun rolls his eyes. “Well get used to it. As you’ll find out, weather spirits are a lot less complicated than you humans. I suggest you start getting direct with your words too. I’m not decoding all your little wiggly bits,” Dejun snaps, gesturing at Yangyang’s index fingers tapping together. Yangyang doesn’t even flinch, unlike the other spirits who suffer regularly through Dejun’s bluntness. Again, weird.

“I really like you,” Yangyang sighs, and Dejun is left to once again decipher the mystery that is humans.

Yangyang is bright by nature, Dejun discovers. He charms Kunhang and Sicheng instantly when Dejun drops by to tell them of his absence. Kunhang and he click in a way Dejun can only explain to Kunhang's love for humans showing. Even Sicheng warms up to him instantly, smiling more than usual as he stares after Yangyang. He tells Dejun to keep the ghost close. Something about Dejun needing to know happiness. He doesn’t get it, but Dejun has long learnt to trust Sicheng’s judgement.

“Keep that one close,” Sicheng made Dejun promise. “You could use a little sunshine in your life. Just… be careful. Don’t chase after sunshine and forget us.”

Dejun wanted to argue that his best friend is  _ literally _ the spirit of the sun, but Sicheng wasn’t haven’t it. So now he’s floating along the East China Sea, a ghost on his cloud and no land in sight.

Yangyang talks his ear off once they start getting comfortable. He’s strangely talkative, rattling on and on about all sorts of questions about weather spirits and the likes. Dejun answers to the best of his abilities, which, to be frank, isn’t much, but Yangyang seems to love it nonetheless. The smile on his face is impossibly wide, a kind of childlike glint in his eyes Dejun can only attribute to fascination. He finds himself growing used to the warm feeling in his chest around Yangyang, unable to chase it away. It’s nice. Dejun wonders if humans have a label for it.

Their relationship buds between the salty scent of the sea and the gentle caress of the rain Dejun brings with him. Yangyang loves the rain, as it turns out, dozing off with his head in Dejun’s lap as he listens to the gentle pitter-patter of the droplets hitting the ocean surface.

Dejun tries to find an explanation for Yangyang’s sudden proximity, blaming it on the fact that he’s just died and that his human clinginess probably transferred instinctively. Of course, that doesn’t explain the reflex in Dejun’s arm as he reaches out to card through Yangyang’s ghostly locks. It’s soft, somehow, despite not being a hundred percent solid. There’s a peaceful expression on his face, and Dejun thinks Yangyang would make a wonderful sunshine spirit.

They come across a fishing boat on the third day, a group of sleeping humans dozing off as their fishing lines hang forgotten. Yangyang’s memories seem to be slowly returning, recounting a story of his alive self loving the sea. He has fond memories of fishing with his friends, who he doesn’t remember. 

His face got sad at that point, and Dejun didn’t quite know how to bring back the smile. He tried to do that thing Kunhang always does to him whenever they meet and wraps his arms around Yangyang’s torso. It’s a bit awkward, trying to hug a ghost, but the slightest bit of physicality to Yangyang’s figure was enough.

In more ways than not, Dejun feels like one of those boats, drifting about in an ocean, completely lost. The rain is a constant on his back, like seawater to a boat. He’s only ever known the salty taste of sadness and the bitter smell of regret, the slightest tinge of warmth in the boat is a very new addition to his life Dejun’s yet to have gotten used to.

Yangyang is a prime example of this odd new warmth, a companion on Dejun’s boat trip of life. He remembers more of his old life with every passing hour, somehow being able to talk even more now. Dejun finds himself getting oddly entranced by it all, like he’d rather listen to Yangyang all day than do anything else. It’s weird. This… attachment thing, in general, is weird.

“Do you think we’ll see a walrus?” Yangyang asks, scrunching up his nose in thought. Dejun’s decided to call this cute.

“I think we can try to catch one,” Dejun hums. “I’ve heard Sicheng describe them before.”

Yangyang smiles, and slowly, Dejun finds himself guided to shore by a new lighthouse on a continent he’s never heard of.

They chance upon a city on their way. Based on the towering buildings and bright decorations, Dejun assumes it to be one of the cities Sicheng always talks about. Shanghai, was it?

Whatever it’s called, Yangyang loves it. They stop by for a few hours, drizzling a light shower over the city that practically blends in with the darkness of the night and evaporates at the touch of the city’s heat. They go people-watching, one of Dejun’s favourite pastimes. Yangyang finds a pair of friends to follow, entranced by the two meat skewers in their hands. Dejun tries to remind him that he’s dead and technically can’t even talk to the girls, much less eat their food. Still, Yangyang is too cute for him to do that.

Yangyang does rediscover his new form in a rather disheartened manner, phasing straight through the two girls as his hand moves through their bodies. He stops in the middle of the street, no longer excited, and Dejun thinks something has to be wrong.

“Are you okay?” Dejun asks. Yangyang turns around, meeting Dejun’s gaze. He looks sad, the same kind of staple sadness Dejun’s grown long accustomed to. Yet the look is foreign on Yangyang. Wrong, even. Dejun decides he doesn’t want sadness to be a staple of Yangyang’s face.

Nearby, a group of rowdy men cheer, starling Dejun and Yangyang as they turn to them. It’s a crowd of what looks to be a bunch of boys barely older than Yangyang when he died. They look… very expressive. Massive smiles, loud, open mouths of food. Rowdy laughter. Dejun tries to recall Sicheng’s descriptions, not able to quite place his finger on the strange emotion in the air.

He turns to Yangyang, about to ask when he spots a familiar emotion on Yangyang’s face.

Longing.

Longing for companionship. Longing for the buzz of being held. Longing for the gentle lull of sociability. Longing for the security of being the glass in the middle of a multi-person toast, all squeezed up in celebratory emotion and happiness and—

Ah, yes, that’s what it was. Happiness. It’s been a while since Dejun’s felt that.

Dejun doesn’t know what takes over from his moment of realization to the point where he’s got Yangyang wrapped up in a hug again. The warm buzz is back in Dejun’s chest, the same buzz he’s seldom felt outside of his time with Yangyang. The same buzz he feels with those loud boys, and he finally understands what Sicheng meant.

“You make me happy,” Dejun mutters into the crook of Yangyang’s half-transparent neck. “So let me return the favour.”

Yangyang only hums his response. And for the first time, his hands drift up too, wrapping back around Dejun’s torso as Dejun feels him get warmer. More tangible, too. As if feeling happy made him more concrete.

Well, all the more reason to keep Yangyang happy.

They catch a souvenir the next time they fly over land. It comes and smacks straight into Yangyang’s face, in fact, the most solid he’s been in ages. Sure, part of the object still phases through the less solid part of him, but Yangyang’s presence has been getting stronger as of late. The more he remembers, the more the image of that frail-looking boy with the tattered and broken red umbrella fades. His skin regains colour. His eyes focus more, and his questions become less childish ramblings and more quiet, introspective thoughts.

Dejun finds himself just as attached to this version of Yangyang. Ever since the fiasco in Shanghai, Yangyang’s been a little quieter (minuscule in the grand scheme of Yangyang) with his words, yet a million times louder with his actions. Between his insistence to cuddle in their tiny cloud space and draping himself all over Dejun, it’s no wonder the odd feeling in Dejun’s chest only grows.

When they discover Yangyang’s hair’s new tangibility, Dejun’s become somewhat addicted to the feeling. It smells faintly of the sea; they should’ve grown sick of smelling at this point, yet Dejun can never tire of Yangyang. He thinks that maybe, in some alternate timeline, he could learn to have someone around for eternity with Yangyang’s help. It could only be Yangyang.

The object they found turns out to be a pinwheel, much to a remembering Yangyang’s excitement. He recognizes something! It’s an achievement, apparently! Dejun’s not quite sure why he’s so excited, but he’s cute so it doesn’t matter!

“There’s a story my mom used to tell me,” Yangyang explains. “About a pair of lovers and a pinwheel.”

Dejun’s long grown used to storytime, looking forward to it as he pulls Yangyang back into their comfortable position. It has both of them lying down, with Dejun burying his face in Yangyang’s somehow solid collarbone and Yangyang holding onto his waist through the cloud. It’s grown colder lately, the further up they get. Dejun’s not quite used to it, as a tropical rain spirit, but he likes the way Yangyang tries to warm him up with cuddles and stories.

“Tell me about it,” Dejun gently prods. He’s grown softer over the journey. Yangyang just has that effect.

“Well, it goes like this: There are two lovers who live on the opposite side of a pinwheel. They always wish to travel to one another, but when one moves…”

Yangyang spins the pinwheel, making the whole thing rotate.

“...the pinwheel moves too. As a result, the lovers could never truly reach each other. They could only yell to each other from the ends of their pinwheel.”

Dejun frowns. “Why not just walk into the middle?” he questions. Yangyang shrugs.

“I don’t know. People who live on pinwheels are stupid,” Yangyang shrugs. Dejun snorts at him.

“So what did they do?” Dejun asks. “Did someone figure something out?”

Yangyang opens his mouth to say something, before closing it and frowning.

“Yeah… kind of. The details are… fuzzy, but I can recall something about a wind spirit. I think… I think the wind spirit said something about them both moving one panel to the left, to reach the same wing of the pinwheel. But the lovers were scared of not being able to make the gap between the blade, you know what I mean?” Yangyang tries to explain, scrunching up his face in thought. Cute. Too cute.

“What were they scared of?” Dejun asks, confused. This love thing sounds confusing. Don’t they want to go to each other?

Yangyang shrugs. “I think it was a metaphor for love,” Yangyang guesses. “Something about taking a leap of faith. Like, trusting the other person with your everything.”

Dejun cocks his head, confused. “Do humans hide parts of themselves?” Dejun asks. Yangyang gives him a strange look.

“Of course?” Yangyang replies like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Sometimes, people want to hide their feelings, out of fear of ruining what they have.”

Dejun’s still confused. “I don’t see how love would ruin what lovers already have,” Dejun drawls. “Wouldn’t being together physically just… help?”

Yangyang shakes his head. “No, it’s… here, let me give you an example,” Yangyang sighs, pushing himself up. Dejun instantly misses the warmth.

“Take us, for example,” Yangyang explains. “If I told you I loved you or something, that could ruin this nice arrangement we have. No more cuddles. No more hugs. No more stories.”

Dejun narrows his eyes. “That’s stupid,” Dejun argues. “Love sounds stupid. How do you humans deal with it?”

Yangyang shrugs. “The warm buzz is nice,” Yangyang tries. “The feeling of being in love… it’s like no other. Wanting someone to be happy for as long as possible. Wanting the best for them. Wanting to do everything in your power to make them happy… that’s love. That’s what makes the leap of faith worth it.”

Dejun doesn’t retort, too busy feeling his heart hammer in his chest.

Could this warm buzz in his chest be… love?

Could Dejun… love Yangyang?

They arrive in the Arctic too soon for Dejun’s liking. As soon as the sun sets and the snow starts to get cold enough that Dejun can feel his essence freeze, light neon lights start to dance in the sky. Yangyang’s no idiot, and they know exactly what the problem is. Dejun can’t last up here. He’s just not meant for this level of cold.

Initially, Yangyang wanted to rush him back, but that would mean Yangyang never sees the lights. No, that just won’t do. They’ve come all this way, after all.

So Dejun puts on a brave front. Pretends he isn’t dying as they float into the cold lands of the Northern Lights. Yangyang is instantly entranced, staring after the tendrils of light like they’re the most breathtaking thing in the world. Dejun tries to follow his gaze, but the cold seeps into him the moment he loses contact with Yangyang. It’s only then that Dejun realizes ghosts don’t get more solid.

No, it’s just him who’s been slowly fading. Fading, because he’s spent the last month of his millennia wasting away for a ghost. A dead spirit. A lost soul, trapped between worlds.

The most beautiful soul Dejun’s ever met.

“Dance with me,” Yangyang says suddenly, grabbing onto Dejun’s hand. He’s almost fully solid to Dejun now, an alarming sign but Dejun’s gotten more stupid these past few weeks. More humane, Sicheng would say. After all, Dejun’s willing to die for a dance with a boy he barely knows.

They don’t quite dance, more like pressing close to each other for warmth as they sway under the Northern Lights. The neon strands fall beautifully on Yangyang’s features, illuminating him in a way that only angels can glow, and Dejun thinks that, maybe, this isn’t a bad way to go.

When he starts to become even fainter than Yangyang, the first tear slips out of Yangyang’s ghostly eyes. Dejun hates the sight, wants to reach out and wipe away the tears, but finds it ironic how, after weeks of cuddles and constant contact,  _ he’s _ the one too faint to wipe away that last raindrop on Yangyang’s pretty face.

“I’ll see you again, one day,” Dejun whispered with his last bit of energy, not noticing the dark portal that appears behind Yangyang. A man steps out from it, holding a book that reads ‘record of the dead’. Yangyang doesn’t turn around to acknowledge him, staring directly at Dejun through glassy eyes.

“Promise?” Yangyang whispers, voice quivering. Dejun doesn’t answer, leaning forwards as he tries to focus the last bit of his energy. With one last breath, Dejun presses his lips onto Yangyang’s in a short, chaste kiss. The ghost of a touch. Ironic.

And then, he fades away like the summer rain.

Yangyang’s always been fond of the rain.

He loves watching it fall against the glass of his bedroom window back in Germany, loves hearing its quiet pitter-patter on a quiet night, loves the feeling of jumping into a particularly large puddle, ignoring the mutters of ‘baby’ and muted laughter from his older trainee friends. Kun talks just like his mom, Yangyang learns, but he’s just protective.

But mostly, Yangyang loves the rain because it reminds him of something strange. A tugging in his chest, almost pulling Yangyang towards someone like they were two parts of a matching set of magnets, perfectly designed to slot into each others’ touch.

Dejun calls him sunshine, because Yangyang is louder (once they get familiar) and brighter (only between twelve AM and five AM though). Yangyang calls Dejun his rainstorm, because Dejun is soothing and calm, like a tidal wave that pulls Yangyang under and keeps him there with a kiss on the forehead and the echoes of a promise in his hums.

_ I’ll see you again, one day. _

_ I promise. _

**Author's Note:**

> uwu hmu on @heonynchans for more xiaoyang loving all i yell is them anyway


End file.
